


dead ends

by biblicalmate



Series: exit wounds [3]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, F/M, Goodbyes are hard, Implied/Referenced Cheating, but i love him anyway lmao, but still not a great guy lbr, it's mostly you talking and tommy acting like he's not sad af tbh, liberal use of unspoken communication, literally that's it that's the series/the story, tommy is less of a dick here, we continue to not have happy endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 07:04:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18405590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biblicalmate/pseuds/biblicalmate
Summary: Sometimes the only thing left to do is say goodbye, no matter how much you might want to hold on.





	dead ends

**Author's Note:**

> in the process of cross-posting my fics from tumblr here, though a little edited, so if you've read them before that might be why!

You almost expect it to be another four months before you hear or see anything of Tommy.

A week goes by after the disastrous encounter at John’s wedding, and you busy yourself with work and friends as you try to process the realisation that for all that you’re nowhere near over your ex-fiance, you desperately  _want_ to be. You don’t know why that surprises you so much, but it does. You’d convinced yourself that you were just going to love Tommy forever and ache over it, but now you can almost see a life without him where every breath apart doesn’t feel like agony.

It’s a surreal thought and you don’t quite know how to feel about it, but the part of you that thinks Tommy will pull another disappearing act is thankful for it, if only so you can have the chance to deal with it before having to face him again.

Tommy, however, has never really done what you’ve expected.

It’s late in the evening, the torrential rain darkening the day even further, and you’re curled up on your worn sofa with a fire roaring and a book in your hands you’re not really reading. The sounds of the fire crackling, howling wind and pounding rain combine into a soothing cacophony, lulling you into a drowsy state as you let your mind drift aimlessly.

You startle into awareness, unsure of what’s brought you from your half-asleep condition. The book slips from your fingertips as you get to your feet, frowning out the window as the wind and rain picks up force. It’s almost impossible to see outside, the weather turning everything into soft blurs, so all you can make out is the glow of the lamps and the fuzzy shapes of buildings.

The second knock at the door is louder, stealing the breath from your lungs, and you spin to face it. Your heart pounds in your chest as your mind races, trying to figure out who would be calling on you so late in such bad weather. A suspicion lurks at the back of your mind, and for a moment you debate not answering the door at all, but then another knock comes and you’re moving across the room without really deciding to.

You swing it open, and you’re only a little surprised to see Tommy standing in front of you. He’s dripping a puddle at your doorstep, wet and cold and shivering with it. His cap is nowhere to be seen and his hair is plastered to his head, lashes damp, and your heart skips a beat at the sight of him. Getting over him would be a lot easier if he didn’t make looking like a drowned wet so fucking attractive.

“Christ, Tommy, you’re soaked, get in here you idiot.” You act on instinct, without thinking about; you usher him inside and seat him at the kitchen table. It’s quick work to get a towel in his hands so he can start drying off, and you take his coat and drape it by the fire in hopes of drying it out. It’s as you’re busying yourself with adding more wood to the flames that it really sinks in what you’ve done, and your shoulders tense.

You’ve just invited your ex-fiance into your flat without so much as a by-your-leave, fussing over him like a mother hen, and now he’s sat at your kitchen table drinking in the small space with interest. Your heart leaps to your throat and you swallow nervously, tending to the fire for a little longer then necessary as you collect yourself.

When you stand, you carefully avert your eyes from him, heading instead for the kettle as you busy yourself with making tea. Other than the sounds of the fire and the weather — noises that had brought such comfort earlier — it’s completely silent as you see to the drinks. You take a steadying breath when they’re done before turning around, sitting yourself opposite Tommy and sliding a cup over to him. His hands immediately cradle it, seeking the warmth, and he grunts out a thanks.

For a moment you just look at him, soaked to the bone and shivers only now starting to fade, and you can almost pretend that nothing has changed, like it’s just a rainy night and Tommy’s come home to you, letting you look after him with that weary gratefulness you’d gotten so used to. You pick up your cup for something to do, reminding yourself sternly that that was a different time with different people than the two who sit at this table now.

“Why are you here, Tommy?” you ask, proud of the way your voice stays steady. You’re nervous of the answer; you don’t think you can cope with him trying to coax you back into his arms again, not so soon after the last time; you’re nowhere near ready enough to have that conversation tonight.

He doesn’t say anything for a long time, contemplating his tea with distant eyes, and you huff out a breath as you take a sip of your own. You don’t ask again, don’t say anything else; other than thanking you for the drink, he’s not said a word to you. You’re not going to fill the silence for the sake of comfort. If he wants to talk, he can talk. You’re not going to persuade him into it.  

“Do you think we could have been happy?”

The question takes you by surprise, so unlike whatever it was you were expecting to come from Tommy’s mouth, and it takes all your willpower not to spill your tea. You carefully set down the cup, deliberately keeping your eyes on your hands as you take a breath to steel yourself. When you finally glance up at your ex-fiance, he’s not even looking at you. His expression is distant as he gazes out of the window, but you notice the white-knuckle grip he has on his cup and you know he’s not feeling as casual about this as he’s acting.

“I…” You trail off, sighing softly as you shift in your chair. “If you’d asked me six months ago, Tommy, I would have said yes. Now?” You shake your head, another sigh escaping you. “I see a lot of things differently. I suppose I’m not so sure.”

“…Six months?” He blinks over at you, and your heart aches at the emptiness of his eyes. You know this is a defence method of his; he shuts every emotion away so it can’t hurt, but seeing it makes  _you_  hurt. Fuck, you’re so tired. “It’s only been four.”

Your lips purse, irritation flaring for a moment. “You started fucking her six months ago, though, didn’t you?” His eyebrow ticks up as if surprised, but his silence is answer enough, and so you continue. “That’s when you started getting distant. That’s when it all started falling apart. Before that… before that I  _knew_ we were gonna be happy.” Your lips quirk into a wry, bitter smile. “That kind of knowing you feel right in your bones, y’know? It was never a question for me. I loved you and you loved me and we were gonna be so fucking happy.”

You pick up your tea again, proud of the way your hands don’t tremble, don’t give away the way your heart is racing in your chest. You think that maybe one day this will get easier, that maybe you’ll be able to be around Tommy without shaking, without feeling like you’re on the verge of falling apart.

But today isn’t that day, and all you have right now is a stomach twisting itself in knots and a scream building in your throat because this is so  _hard_ , and you remember when things were easy between you and Tommy. It was like you had shared one brain, one heart, one  _soul_. You could trade a glance and know exactly what the other was thinking.

Now, you look at Tommy and you can’t read him at all.

“It seems like forever ago, now.” Your voice is distant, lost to memories that taste like ash. “That I was so certain about anything as I was about me and you. I feel like I don’t really know anything anymore.” You shrug. “So, I guess that’s my answer. I don’t know, Tommy. I don’t know if we would have been happy.”

There’s another long, drawn out silence as you sip your tea and Tommy stares out the window, and the world feels a little strange, a little like this is a dream and at any moment you’ll wake up with his name on your lips. It wouldn’t be the first time, but you know that this is real. The silence is too loud to be anything else. If it’s a dream, Tommy would have already either scorned you completely or collapsed to his knees to beg for you back.

You’re just so  _tired_. You’re tired of hurting, of hurting Tommy and feeling guilty about it because he hurt you first, for fucks sake, you don’t want to feel guilty about the way his betrayal made you feel. You’re tired of the circles you keep going in, of loving him and not wanting to and loving him still, despite it all, and hating it but not being able to hate him and it’s all such a mess.

You think back to being ten, meeting Tommy and knowing your life was going to be different forever now he was in it. You think back to being sixteen, trembling with desire and his mouth on yours, clumsy and smiling and brilliant. You think back to being nineteen, full of joy and love and knowing that Tommy was all you were ever gonna need. You think back to being twenty three, Tommy on one knee before you and the brightest grin you’ve ever seen on his face as you tell him yes, because how could you ever love anyone else after loving him? You think back to being twenty four, war looming over your life and clinging to Tommy the entire night because the thought of him leaving terrifies you.

You think back to four months ago, to a night where your entire world ground to a stop because the person you loved and trusted beyond all others, the person you had planned an entire fucking life with, the person you  _knew_ would never hurt you, had thrown it all away for a quick fuck with a pretty barmaid.

You think back on it all, and you’re just so fucking tired of memories haunting you, of the way your heart still feels so sharp and jagged in your chest. You’re tired of tears and tired of anger and tired of holding your tongue to spare the feelings of the man who hadn’t bothered to think of yours before sleeping with another woman.

“We could have been so good, in another life.” The words spill from your mouth without prompting, and you’re almost surprised to hear them. Tommy’s eyes flick to you immediately, swallowing nervously at whatever he sees on your face. You shrug, unsettled as you stare down at your hands and feel your eyes burn. “Maybe in another world we would have been happy, Tommy. But we’re in this one, now, and we have to make do with what we have.”  

You blink back tears as you raise your gaze to meet his again, and he looks like a little bit heartbroken, like he knows what’s coming and like he doesn’t want to hear it, but you don’t care. You’re just so exhausted and you don’t want to  _do_ this anymore. “I would have been yours forever, Tommy. And you would have been mine. And you know what? Yeah, I think we would have been happy.” The tears spill down your cheeks, and you don’t even have the energy to swipe them away. “But all that… it’s gone. It’s gone and we can’t get it back. I can’t be yours anymore, not after all this. Whatever happiness we would have had… we have to let it go. We have to let it all go, now.”

You swallow the sob in your throat, dab at the wetness on your cheeks, and shift your eyes to the empty cup of tea in front of you. You need him to have  _heard_ this, to have listened and understood everything it is you’re not saying. Because you can’t keep doing this, and you need him to let you go so that this cycle of hurting can finally, finally stop.

“I know I might not be yours anymore.” The words startle you into glancing at him, and his eyes are bright and feverish and his face is cracking with too many emotions for you to name. “But I’m never gonna be anyone else’s.”

He doesn’t say,  _I’m never gonna love anyone like I love you._ He doesn’t say,  _You’re the only person who knows what I have nightmares about_. He doesn’t say,  _You saved me from myself when I didn’t want to be saved._ He doesn’t say,  _I’m gonna love you every day for the rest of my life, whether I want to or not._ He doesn’t say,  _I hate that this has to be goodbye but it does have to be, doesn’t it?_ He doesn’t say, _I love you but I’m gonna let you go._

He doesn’t say any of it, but you hear it anyway, and for a moment you know him as well as you always have, can read his thoughts in his face as easily as if you’ve slipped through time to when things were good and simple and it was you and Tommy against the word.

You smile, soft and sad and a little sweet, a little bitter. “I know, Tommy. It’s the same for me.”

You don’t say,  _I loved you until it consumed everything else, and I can never love like that again._ You don’t say,  _Your secrets and your nightmares are always gonna be safe with me._ You don’t say,  _I’d have saved you every day if you had let me._ You don’t say,  _I know. I know. I’m gonna love you forever, too._ You don’t say,  _Yes, it does. Yes, I hate it too. But we have to say goodbye before this destroys us both._ You don’t say,  _I know. I love you too. Thank you._

But you know he hears it, watch the way all the harsh emotion bleeds from his face and his shoulders relax and the tiniest hint of a smile plays at his mouth and you know he understands.

And when he drains his tea, stands and shrugs into his coat and makes for the door, your heart doesn’t break at the sight of him leaving. It hurts, still, but it doesn’t  _break._ And when you follow him to the door, smile at him as he leaves and he smiles back, it’s not this earth-shattering moment of him walking away from the ruins of the two of you. You feel a little like he shouldn’t be leaving, but it’s not enough to make you stop him, and he slips from your tiny little flat with a soft goodbye. You shut the door, and it doesn’t feel like the world is ending with the quiet  _click_.

You shut the door, and it feels a lot like closure, a lot like a sad ending but a new beginning, a lot like you’ve finally said goodbye to Tommy Shelby and things aren’t  _okay_ but they will be, and you can finally see that now.

You shut the door.

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr @ biblicalmate :)


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